The Spy and the Atom Gun Read online

  THE SPY AND THE ATOM GUN

  by Ronald Seth

  Introducing Captain Geoffrey Martel of the British Secret Service

  Ariel Books 1958

  Scanned and Proofed by RyokoWerx

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Tortoise

  As we drew nearer to the Gallonian border the atmosphere grew tense.

  Opposite me a portly Greek businessman ran his fingers around the inside of his collar, over which his three chins bulged like long fat sausages. Every few moments his tongue darted out from behind his teeth and moistened, with a rapid movement, his thick pale lips.

  In the corner along from him, by the door leading into the corridor, was a young Gallonian woman. She had been working for two years in the Gallonian Embassy in Paris, and was now returning home to a post in the Foreign Ministry.

  You would have thought, being a native of the country coming home after a long absence, she would have been happy and excited. But she, too, was quiet, straight-faced and nervous.

  Facing her was a young Frenchman who was going to the French Embassy in Tredentz, the Gallonian capital. Surely he had nothing to fear! As a diplomat he was protected in many ways. For example, not even if he committed a crime—which he was unlikely to do—would the Gallonian authorities be able to arrest him and imprison him. Ordinary people, like the Greek and me, did not have to do anything within miles of a crime to find ourselves in trouble. Yet the Frenchman fidgeted constantly with his diplomatic passport and other papers and threw quick glances out of the window and then back around the compartment at all of us.

  Of the four of us, I think I was about the calmest. At least, I hoped I looked calm.

  As a matter of fact, I ought to have been the most nervous. If the passport control officials at the frontier were to discover that my papers were false, that my name was not Rudolf de Jong, that I was not a Dutch cigar merchant, then I should never see England again, or anywhere else except the inside of a cell until I was taken one morning to the prison yard, and after a brief glance at a firing squad would see nothing else in this world.

  Fortunately whenever I have to face a crisis my brain goes clear, my nerves steady and my mind more than normally alert. This is just as well, because in my work crises seem to crop up with unfailing regularity.

  As a matter of fact, my passport and other papers were such excellent forgeries that I would have been quite willing to cross swords with a real Dutch cigar merchant.

  But in spite of all this I, too, found my mouth unusually dry and my heart beating just a shade quicker than its normal speed.

  The train had slowed down and was crawling along at less than ten miles an hour. I looked through the window at the countryside lit up by the brilliant moonlight.

  As I watched the train passed through a gate the tall posts of which were painted red, green and black in stripes.

  The fat Greek giggled nervously.

  "Did you hear it clang down behind us?" he asked.

  "Hear what?" I said.

  "The Iron Curtain!" he answered.

  Then, realizing what he had said, he looked quickly at the young woman. If she had heard his remark and reported it to the secret police he could hope to do no business in Gallonia. But she did not seem to have heard.

  Taking the bull by the horns he said to her: "Excuse me, mam'selle, but can you tell me what time we are likely to arrive at Tredentz?"

  "In eight hours after leaving Kobo, the frontier station," she told him.

  "Is there likely to be a long delay at Kobo?" he asked next.

  "About an hour," she replied. "But one never knows. Supposing there are papers which are not in order, then it can take much longer."

  "Let us hope all papers will be in order, then," he said. "I have an appointment with the minister of foreign trade at ten o'clock, and I should very much like to bathe and change my clothes before going to the ministry. It makes a bad impression to call on a high official still travel-stained. Ah, we are stopping."

  "This is Kobo," said the young woman.

  Kobo is the Gallonian frontier station. It is very small, having only one platform to serve the single track which runs from it for the first thirty miles into the country. It has been arranged like that so that two trains from opposite directions cannot arrive at the frontier at the same time.

  The platform, which was long enough to take the whole length of the train, was on the corridor side. On my side of the track, which ran along the top of a steep embankment, the ground fell sharply away for twenty feet or more. Here and there small bushes and brambles were dotted.

  For a time we sat waiting for the passport control officer to come to inspect our papers, then I went into the corridor and looked along the brightly lit platform. Every fifty yards or so a soldier stood on guard with his rifle slung over one shoulder. Halfway down the platform I saw a party of four of them standing with an officer. I had spied out the land, so I went back to my seat to wait.

  Presently heavy boots entered the corridor of our coach and a deep, booming voice almost shattered our eardrums.

  "Passports and visas, please!" it shouted.

  It was a remarkable voice. I do not think I have ever heard such a rich, deep speaking voice before or since. It was so extraordinary that once you had heard it you would never forget it, and could be quite certain of recognizing it anywhere again.

  I sat listening to it fascinated, wondering what sort of man it could be who had this extraordinary voice, booming now in the next compartment.

  I was sure he was a man who thought a good deal of himself, for the tone and the words he was using were bullying.

  Next door he was putting someone through a catechism of questions. His victim was clearly a frightened woman, for the answers were so quietly given that one could not hear the words, but had only the impression of a scared woman's voice. Apparently, too, the answers were not satisfactory, for the voice grew louder and louder until the air in our compartment trembled with the reverberations it set up and the words became more and more bullying and impolite. Presently, during a slight pause, the sounds of a woman weeping reached us.

  The young woman bit her lip and looked down at her papers. The Greek had turned pale and his hands shook so violently that when he tried to light a cigarette he got the flame to the tip of it only with difficulty. The Frenchman tried to look as if he had not heard, while I felt my anger rising with every second.

  Then suddenly the door of the next compartment slammed to with a terrific bang, and the next moment the passport control officer was standing in the doorway of our compartment. And I looked at him in absolute amazement, with great difficulty keeping back the laughter into which my surprise almost betrayed me.

  For the contrast which the body of the man presented to his voice was fantastic! Here was this rich, opera bass-singer's voice, housed in a four-foot-four body. And as if this were not surprising enough, the dwarf was dressed in a long uniform greatcoat which almost trailed on the ground, a large metal plate bearing, in Gallonian, the words:PASSPORT CONTROL, suspended from his neck by a chain, covered the front part of him like a medieval knight's breastplate, while on his head was a steel helmet which hid his eyes and ears. The helmet made the little man look exactly like a tortoise!

  He raised his right hand in a kind of salute and his voice boomed into the compartment.

  "Good evening, madame and gentlemen!" he announced. "Welcome to Gallonia!"

  We all said good evening.

  "May I see your passports and visas, please?" he asked, and turned to the young woman, who gave him her papers.

  He looked at them and at once became less bullying.

  "Welcome home, Miss Praha!" He bowed, looking even more ridic
ulous. "You will be glad to be returning to Gallonia, I'm sure."

  "Very glad," Miss Praha said shortly.

  He stamped her passport and handed it back to her.

  "You will find many changes," he said. "But good changes."

  "I'm sure," she answered.

  The Tortoise then turned to the French diplomat, whose official papers were very impressive. But the little man did not find them so.

  Adopting a patronizing tone which was at the same time tinged with sarcasm, he said: "You will find Gallonia very different from France, sir, but I think you will have to confess, when you have lived among us for a time, that our way of life is the superior one."

  "Indeed?" The Frenchman's eyebrows had gone up to meet his hair, but he remembered in time that he was a diplomat. He went on: "I am told you are having some success, officer."

  "Some success! Some success!" the Tortoise boomed. "You'll see, sir! You'll see!"

  I held out my passport, and with a deliberately impolite action he turned to the Greek and took his.

  "What is the reason for your visit to Gallonia Mr. Antonides?" he asked.

  "I have come to confer with your minister of foreign trade, Mr. Pallomo," the Greek answered.

  "I am afraid you will be unlucky, sir," the Tortoise grinned.

  "Why?"

  "Mr. Pallomo was relieved of his office the day before yesterday. He has been found guilty of taking bribes," the Tortoise informed him.

  The Greek went even more pale. I had an idea that he had been one of those who had passed the unfortunate Mr. Pallomo a bribe. Almost as loudly as the Tortoise, though his thin voice shrieked instead of boomed, he said: "Oh well! His successor will see me, no doubt."

  "Mr. Pallomo's successor has not yet been appointed," the Tortoise gloated.

  While this exchange had been taking place the dwarf had been turning over the pages of the Greek's passport as though in search of something. In a moment or two he looked up at the fat man.

  "Sir, I cannot find the special permit of entry required under decree 291/56 of the Ministry of the Interior," he exclaimed, the bullying tone returning to his voice.

  Surprisingly, the Greek refused to be bullied.

  He snatched back the passport and began to flick quickly through the pages, saying as he did so: "It is only by a special act of providence that I did get it. I was ready to leave in one hour when your embassy in Luxembourg telephoned me to tell me about the new law. How on earth you imagine busy people… Ah, here it is!" With a little cry of triumph he handed the passport back to the Tortoise.

  I was puzzled by these references to the special permit of entry under decree 291/56 of the Ministry of the Interior. Those who had provided my false passport for me in London had assured me that I had all the visas and permits required to get me into Gallonia. But I knew that this special permit was not among them. I was more than puzzled; I was also slightly alarmed.

  My friend and colleague, Captain Brian Grant, who has told the stories of his missions in Operation Retriever, Operation Ormer and Operation Lama and, I think, Operation Seagull, always says that whenever danger is coming near a sort of alarm bell starts ringing in his mind. My own warning system, though it works in the same way, is not a bell but a gong which begins faintly in the distance at the first sign of danger and gets louder and louder as the danger gets nearer. It had already given its first faint warning, and as I handed my passport to the Tortoise it gave a second much louder crash.

  "Mr. de Jong," he said, "you are hoping to sell your cigars in Gallonia?"

  "Naturally," I answered. "I am told that Gallonians are among the first in Europe to appreciate a good cigar."

  "That is true," he replied. "But for us now, cigars are a luxury which we cannot afford."

  "But I have been asked to come…" I began.

  "Mr. de Jong," he boomed at me, as he had done at the Greek, and the crash of my gong almost deafened me. "Mr. de Jong, you have no special permit of entry under decree 291/56."

  "Officer," trying the Greek's tactics, I shouted back at him," your consul-general in Amsterdam assured me that I had all the necessary documents. What is this decree?"

  "It was published on May 27th," he began.

  "But today is only May 29th!" I exclaimed. "Besides, I left Amsterdam, as you see, on May 26th. How do you expect me to have a permit?"

  He did not answer my question but began to leave the compartment, shouting over his shoulder: "Please stay where you are, sir."

  I half started after him.

  "But my passport!" I called. "Can I have my passport?"

  He took no notice of me.

  "This is ridiculous!" I exploded to my companions.

  "They are barbarians, these Gallonians!" said the Greek, suddenly breaking into German and glancing at Miss Praha to see if she understood him. I could not be certain whether she did or not, but decided it would be wiser not to reply since, being in the Foreign Service, she might know the language.

  Now, although my passport was a very clever forgery, and could get past any normal inspection such as one might expect at a frontier, it would not stand up to any close check with the records in the central visa office of the Gallonian Foreign Ministry.

  I stood up, went out of the compartment into the corridor and lowered a window. I saw the Tortoise marching along the platform with pompous strides, returning the salutes of the soldiers as he passed them. He came to a stop under the light where the officer and the little group of soldiers were standing. He handed my passport to the officer and while the latter looked through it spoke volubly to him. I could hear the deep bell tones of his voice but could not hear what he was saying.

  After a moment or two the officer answered him, he saluted and came marching back along the platform with four soldiers marching after him.

  It would never do for me to be arrested and closely interrogated. Somehow I must avoid that, and I knew there was only one way. I went casually back into the compartment.

  "It's a little warm in here, don't you find?" I said. "Do you mind if I open the window?"

  I did not wait for anyone to answer but lowered the wide window overlooking the steep embankment as far down as it would go. I put my head out of the window and gulped down one or two deep draughts of fresh air.

  Still with my head out of the window, I said to the Greek very quietly in German: "I must leave you. Will you throw my greatcoat after me?"

  "Jawohl," he whispered back.

  I turned into the compartment.

  The sound of the soldiers' jackboots on the concrete platform was coming nearer every second. The Tortoise's voice booming orders filled the corridor.

  I reached for my greatcoat on the rack and was about to turn to the Greek and drop it into his lap as I went through the window when I heard Miss Praha's calm voice.

  "I think you should stay here, sir," she said.

  Surprised, I swung around and was even more surprised to see her leveling a small pearl-handled revolver at me.

  At that moment the Tortoise appeared in the doorway.

  My gong stopped clanging. I was quite calm and cool. I was not going to let myself get caught without a fight.

  "What's happening?" the Tortoise shouted from the doorway.

  It was the signal for me to act.

  I dropped my coat on the Greek and, though I did not like doing it, shot out my right leg and kicked the revolver out of Miss Praha's hand. She would have a bruised hand for days, I was sure, and I was sorry. At the same moment I threw myself out of the open window in a backward roll. Before I had hit the ground the Greek had dropped my greatcoat on top of me. Instinctively I grabbed at it and pulled it after me as I rolled over and over down the steep side of the embankment.

  At the bottom of the slope, under cover of a bush, I glanced up and saw the Greek's bulky figure filling the window and heard him calling: "He's gone! He'll break his neck! What a fool! He'll break his neck!"

  He had more courage than I would ever
have credited him with, remembering how nervous he had been as we approached the Gallonian frontier. I was extremely grateful to him, too, for if he had not blocked the window, the Tortoise could have aimed at me as I had rolled down the slope. I am sure that that was what the Greek had in mind.

  I could see the Tortoise trying to push him aside, and at last he succeeded. As he shouted orders to the soldiers he emptied his own revolver down the embankment. But he had no idea where I was, for I heard the bullets thudding into the earth yards away. Then he too turned away from the window and his great voice came more faintly from the other side of the train.

  I pulled myself to my feet, a little breathless still, but unharmed except for a bruised left elbow, and looked about me.

  Opposite me, across a rough, narrow track, was a small clump of trees. I had studied the route from the frontier to the capital, Tredentz, on the map before I left England, and knew that only a few hundred yards to the north of me, on the other side of the main road, lay the great Vazon Forest, which stretches twenty-five miles from east to west and is almost two miles wide from north to south. If I could get there I should be under cover and difficult to find while I thought out my next move.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Roadside Encounter

  As I crossed the path and entered the grove I heard rifles being fired wildly along the railway track. There were distant shouts, too, which, I was relieved to hear, were moving away from me.

  Among the trees of the copse the undergrowth was thick, and I had to force my way through. It was slow going, as I did not want to damage my clothes too much. I had had to leave my bag behind in the train, and what I stood up in was all I had. Until I had made contact with some of the people I had come to see I must take care not to attract attention to myself by looking too disreputable.

  It took me a good half hour to reach the main road which runs from the frontier to Tredentz, and as I approached it I was surprised by the silence. Since it was a main road I expected to find it busy; but then I remembered that once in Gallonia it was very difficult to get out, and quite impossible for the ordinary Gallonian citizen.